Back from the Brink
by Deana
Summary: Less than a month after Savoy, Aramis struggles to recover physically and emotionally while Athos and Porthos try to prevent him from wasting away.
1. Wasting Away

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 **Back from the Brink  
** A Musketeer story by Deana

This story is in response to a few different story prompts that I found online: 1: Aramis faints, 2: Aramis isn't eating and loses weight, and 3: Athos gives them chocolate. I decided to put all three in one story, lol!

Takes place five years before season 1, a few weeks after Savoy.

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"Aramis?"

"I got 'im."

Aramis felt hands grab his shoulders, and he opened his eyes to find himself staring at the top of a table. He was leaning against something strong, and raised his head to find Athos watching him from the chair across from his own. The thing he was leaning on moved slightly.

"Hey, you all right?" came Porthos' voice.

Aramis blinked and straightened up a little, feeling weak and lightheaded. He saw that they were sitting in a tavern, and realized that he must've passed out again.

 _Again_.

The hands squeezed his shoulders, and Aramis turned his head slightly to look at Porthos' concerned face. "I'm fine," he said, the words coming out slowly.

Athos sighed. It'd been nearly a month since the Savoy massacre had killed twenty musketeers and left Aramis the only survivor…with Marsac having deserted and left Aramis to die. He'd obtained a head injury that had caused a severe concussion, as well as a stab wound to his left side. Outwardly, the damage was healing—stitches had been removed and bruising had faded—but they couldn't be sure about the _inside_ …Aramis still suffered from headaches and dizzy spells, and would sometimes pass out without warning, as he had just now. He was always fine again within a few minutes, but it was very worrisome.

"Stew?" Athos asked, trying to make things seem normal to Aramis, who was usually embarrassed after regaining consciousness.

Aramis looked at him, seeming confused for a few seconds before the effects finally passed. He shrugged. "I'm not very hungry."

Porthos' hands, still holding onto his friend, tightened their grip. Aramis had never really been an over-eater, but since the massacre, his appetite had practically vanished and he was steadily losing weight. His uniform was too large on him, and it was obvious even to people who didn't know him. "You have to eat, Aramis," he said. "How will you get your strength back?"

Aramis knew that he was right. Raising a hand, he rubbed his aching forehead with a sigh.

"Don't get upset," Porthos gently said. Aramis was suffering enough; the last thing they wanted to do was add to his stress. "Just try to do better, all right? It's for your own good."

Aramis tiredly lowered his hand. "All right." He blinked slowly, feeling exhausted.

As Athos watched him, he realized that something needed to be done, _fast._ Aramis was hardly eating or sleeping, losing weight, and pale. He was wasting away before their eyes, and he and Porthos were determined not to let that happen.

A barmaid suddenly appeared beside their table. "Hello, handsome!" she said, targeting Aramis first, as she always did.

Aramis looked up and smiled slightly at her, though it was nothing like the usual flirtation that he always engaged in before Savoy. "Hello, Geneviève," he said.

She bent over and kissed him full on the lips, before pulling away and staring at him. "There, _that_ put some color back in your cheeks!"

Porthos chuckled at that.

"We have a marvelous stew tonight," Geneviève continued. "Interested?"

Aramis remembered what he'd promised Porthos, and nodded.

She smiled. "Good." Standing, Geneviève looked at the others. "The same?"

"Yes," said Athos. "And wine."

" _Lots_ of wine," Porthos added.

The barmaid nodded and walked off.

Athos and Porthos looked at Aramis, glad to see a slight smile on his face. Geneviève knew what had happened to him, and always tried whatever she could to give Aramis even just five minutes of happiness.

The food came quickly, and Aramis kept his word and ate…before visibly flagging after only three bites.

"She was right," said Porthos. "This really _is_ marvelous."

Athos nodded. "Mmm," he agreed, as he chewed. "It is."

It was obvious to Aramis that they were saying that to entice him to eat, so he took another bite. He only managed one more before suddenly dropping the spoon into the bowl and leaning his elbow on the table with his hand over his eyes.

Porthos grabbed him again.

"I'm sorry," Aramis shakily mumbled, feeling sick. "I tried."

"That's all right; just take it easy," Porthos said, rubbing his back.

Athos stood and grabbed Geneviève, asking her for some broth. She nodded and hurried to get it, and Athos sat back down and took hold of Aramis' arm. "Be calm, it will pass," he said.

Aramis sighed. Athos was right, it always did, but it happened too often and he was so tired of it…

The barmaid returned and handed a mug to Athos, who held it under his friend's nose. "Here, Aramis; drink."

Aramis removed his hand from his eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam before taking hold of the cup and slowly drinking it.

Athos didn't let go, pulling the cup away when Aramis stopped drinking. "Better?"

Aramis took a deep breath and nodded. Warm broth always succeeded in settling his stomach and calming his nerves.

Athos looked up at the barmaid. "Thank you," he said.

Geneviève nodded with a sigh before placing a kiss on Aramis' curly head and squeezing his shoulder before leaving.

"I'm sorry," Aramis suddenly said again.

Porthos shook his head. "None of that, now. Do you wanna go back to the garrison?"

"Yes," Aramis tiredly answered.

"Can you drink anymore of this first?" Athos asked, still holding the mug.

Aramis contemplated it before reaching out to take it. He drank a little more before putting it down.

Athos placed some money on the table and stood, taking Aramis' arm and helping him slowly stand. Porthos did the same from the other side, and they waited for a few seconds to make sure that their friend wasn't going to pass out again.

"I'm all right," Aramis told them.

They took his word and slowly led him out of the tavern. The night was chilly and a sudden gust of wind blew into their faces, taking them by surprise and making Aramis shiver.

Athos pulled the scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around his friend's, before grabbing the gloves hanging over Aramis' belt and sticking them into his hands.

Aramis put his gloves on as Porthos wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him warm. He leaned against his friend, so grateful for their care.

They started the slow walk back to the garrison. The unexpected wind continued, and Athos regretted that they hadn't taken their horses. They'd walked to give Aramis some much-needed exercise, but it had obviously been the wrong decision to make.

Aramis tried not to shiver, but it was ridiculously difficult. Ever since Savoy, he couldn't seem to get a lingering chill out of his bones. Not for the first time, he wished for summer.

They finally made it back to the garrison and brought Aramis to his room; assisting him with his jacket and boots and helping him lie down.

Aramis sighed as his head hit the pillow, hoping that, for once, it would be a night without disturbing dreams.

Athos lifted his friend's shirt to take a look at the still-healing stab wound. Removing the bandage, he found that it still looked raw and painful, but had thankfully never grown infected. The stitches had only been removed two days prior, and Aramis was sure to be left with an impressive scar.

Porthos handed him fresh bandages, and they exchanged a worried expression over the state of their friend; a month ago, Aramis had been fighting-fit and strong, but now, he was too thin and weak. For a moment, Porthos imagined Aramis shooting a musket and falling back from the recoil.

Athos moved on to Aramis' head wound, finding that it looked better than the stab wound. The scar would be hidden by his hair, and no one else would ever know about it.

Aramis closed his eyes before tiredly reopening them.

"Sleep, Aramis," Porthos said, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

To their surprise, Aramis closed his eyes and dropped right off to sleep without a single word, likely because of the difficult evening that he'd just had.

Athos and Porthos looked at each other again. "What are we gonna do?" Porthos whispered. "He's wastin' away."

Athos sighed. "I don't know," he said. "But whatever it is, it needs to be done _soon._ "

TBC


	2. A Solution?

**Equine 14** : I'll consider prompts! We'll see what I can come up with for yours!

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Aramis spent another restless night waking from nightmares, and neither Athos nor Porthos got much sleep as they pondered what to do for him. Eating had no pleasure for Aramis since the traumatic event in Savoy, as memories of seeing his fellow musketeers hacked to pieces still consumed him. Marsac's betrayal was still a fresh wound in itself, and that alone would be enough to take away his appetite.

If this continued, Aramis would fall ill from malnutrition and eventually die. For all they knew, that could be one reason why he kept passing out.

Athos sighed as he walked down the street the next morning. Aramis was asleep and Porthos was watching him, so he'd decided to go for a walk to clear his head and try to figure out what to do. As he walked, he suddenly spotted a bakery, and on a whim, went inside. Who didn't like pastry? Perhaps Aramis would enjoy such a treat.

On the counter was something that Athos didn't expect to see; tins of liquid chocolate. It was a delicacy that Queen Anne had brought to France years earlier as a gift for King Louis. It was extremely expensive, and Athos remembered how much his own wife had enjoyed drinking it hot before bedtime…

Athos shook his head, dispelling his thoughts. Aramis was most important right now, and Athos would spare no cost in helping him regain his health. He bought some pastries and a tin of the chocolate and left.

Porthos was dozing in a chair when Athos went back into Aramis' room, and he was glad to see that their wounded friend was quietly sleeping. He knew that it probably wouldn't last long, so he was as quiet as possible. He'd gotten some milk and a small pot from Serge along the way, and combined the milk and some of the chocolate into the pot to warm on the fire.

Aramis woke half an hour later. He sat straight up in his bed, breathing heavily.

Porthos instantly woke and was out of his chair so fast that it seemed like he moved before his eyes were even open. Sitting on the bed, he put a hand on his friend's back. "Hey, hey, take it easy."

The fast movement proved to be too much for Aramis' still-healing brain, and he closed his eyes when his head lolled dizzily and bumped against his friend's shoulder.

Porthos wrapped his arm around him to prevent him from falling over. He could feel him shivering. "Another dream?"

Aramis sighed. "No, just…" He frowned. "I'm not sure. Maybe. If so, I don't remember it."

The others were glad of that.

Aramis remained where he was, head lying on Porthos' shoulder. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling comfortable and safe.

Athos waited, letting him rest for a while before he said, "Aramis? I have something I'd like you to try."

"Hmm?" Aramis replied, sleepily.

"There is a delicacy called 'chocolate' that the queen brought to Paris as a gift to the king when they were wed," Athos said. "It is warmed in milk, and tastes like..." he paused. "Nothing I can describe."

The word 'warm' got through to Aramis, and he said, "All right."

Athos used a ladle to pour some into a cup, and took a sip to make sure it wasn't too hot. The rich taste almost made him close his eyes with pleasure; he'd almost forgotten how delicious it was, having not had any since becoming a musketeer. He brought it over to the bed and sat on Aramis' other side. "Here," he said.

Aramis raised his head from Porthos' shoulder and immediately noticed the scent. With a curious expression, he raised a hand to take the cup, holding onto it even when Athos didn't let go. Once he tasted it, his eyes opened wider and he looked at Athos. "What did you say this is?" he asked, before sipping it again.

"Chocolate," Athos told him.

Aramis took the cup out of his hand and continued to drink it.

Curious, Porthos went over to the pot on the fire and tasted it himself. He made a face.

Athos was surprised. "You don't like it?"

"I dunno," said Porthos. "It tastes…strange."

"Not to _me_ ," said Aramis, finishing his cup. "Where did you get this?"

"The bakery a half-mile down the road," Athos told him. "I didn't know they sold it until today when I went in for some pastries."

'Pastry' was the magic word for Porthos, and he came back to the bed.

Aramis looked at Athos. "Can I have some more?"

Athos smiled; a rare, _real_ smile. "Of course you can, my friend." He refilled the cup and brought it back.

They ate the pastries—even Aramis, though he only managed one. He licked his lips after finishing his second cup of hot chocolate. "Where has this been hiding all my life?"

Porthos was amazed to hear such a 'normal' statement from Aramis, and looked at Athos with delight, realizing the implications; _finally_ , something to entice Aramis' appetite.

"I'm glad you like it," Athos said. "I bought it especially for you."

Aramis was touched. Marsac had abandoned him, but he had two better friends right here.

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From then on, Athos made sure that Aramis never ran out of chocolate. He enjoyed the drink so much that Athos became the bakery's main customer, and the owner was overjoyed, as it was very expensive and he was making a lot of money.

Athos never blinked at the cost; Aramis' health was worth every coin.

One morning a week later, Athos had been surprised at what he'd found in the bakery upon his arrival, and he'd left with more than just the liquid chocolate. When he walked into Aramis' room, he didn't expect to find Aramis sitting up in bed with his head in his hands. Porthos was sitting beside him with a hand on his back.

Aramis was making occasional distressed noises, and suddenly fisted his hands in his hair.

Athos was so surprised at the unexpected scene that he just stared for a few seconds. When he'd left, Aramis had been sleeping peacefully. "What happened?!" he asked, putting the sack down and rushing to the bed.

"He suddenly woke this way, in pain," Porthos told him, rubbing their injured friend's back.

Athos closed the curtains to block the sunlight before setting the basin of water on the bed and dropping a cloth into it. He quickly sat beside his friend and gently pulled Aramis' hands out of his hair. Once he'd succeeded, he placed a hand under his friend's chin and carefully lifted his head, holding the wet cloth against his forehead in an attempt to ease the pain.

Aramis' eyes were squeezed shut, but he opened them with a gasp at the feel of the cold water.

Athos noticed how pale he was. "Are you going to be ill?"

Aramis closed his eyes against the stabbing pain that laced through his head. "No," he whispered.

Athos was relieved at that. "Why aren't you lying down?"

"He said the blood was rushin' to 'is head," said Porthos. "And makin' it worse,"

Athos sighed, before gently pushing Aramis to lean against Porthos. "Just rest," he said, rewetting the cloth before holding it to his friend's forehead again.

Aramis echoed the sigh, eyes squeezed shut.

The day passed slowly and painfully for all of them; Aramis suffered physically while his friends had to suffer mentally. It wasn't until nearly evening that Aramis was recovered sufficiently to see what Athos had brought.

"The baker had something new," Athos said, taking out a small box and bringing it over to the bed. Opening it, he held it out to Aramis.

Lying partially upright, Aramis raised a slightly-shaking hand and took out something square and brown. "Solid chocolate?"

Athos nodded with a slight smile, moving to offer the box to Porthos.

Aramis took a bite and his eyebrows rose. "I never knew anything like this existed," he remarked.

"It must only be bought by the wealthy," Porthos said, as he tasted it too.

Aramis suddenly looked at Athos, and his pale face turned even whiter. "Is it expensive?"

Athos shook his head. "No." Not for him, anyway.

Aramis was suspicious at his answer, looking at the piece of chocolate as if he wasn't sure that he should eat it.

"I'm not going to stop buying it," said Athos. "So you may as well eat it."

"If you don't, then _I'm_ gonna," said Porthos, chomping on the piece that he'd snatched.

Aramis took another bite of his, and some color came back into his face. It was more than obvious how much he enjoyed the taste.

Athos looked at Porthos, one eyebrow raised. "You don't like it warmed in milk, yet you like it solid?"

"I may have to give the drink another chance," Porthos said, grabbing the box from Athos and shoving another piece into his mouth while he sat on the side of Aramis' bed. Suddenly, he looked up and held out the box towards Athos. "Oh, did _you_ want some?" he asked, words distorted from his mouth being full.

Athos gave him The Look.

At that, Aramis gave a soft chuckle. It was a sound that the other two hadn't heard from him since Savoy, and it was like music to their ears.

TBC


	3. Summoned by the King

The next day, Treville entered the room with a grave expression on his face. He saw that Aramis was sleeping, and was relieved, as it gave him a chance to speak to the other two first. "How is he?" he asked.

Athos stood from his chair next to the bed and walked to the other side of the room, so as not to disturb Aramis. "Last night was the most sleep he's gotten since it happened," he whispered.

Treville was glad to hear that, but upset that he was about to ruin whatever progress Aramis was making.

Athos could see that something was wrong. "What is it?"

Treville hesitated.

"Are Porthos and I needed for a mission?" Athos asked.

Treville shook his head. "No...the king has summoned Aramis."

Porthos stood from where he sat beside the bed and hurried over. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

Treville sighed. "Yes. He wants a report on what happened."

"Everyone _knows_ what happened!" Porthos replied.

"I know, Porthos!" said Treville. "We _all_ know." Suddenly, he looked older than his years, and they noticed the dark smudges under his eyes that spoke of many sleepless nights. "But he wants an account from someone who was _there_..."

The words, _and no one came back but Aramis_ went unsaid.

"But he can't!" Porthos said. "Aramis has been through _hell_ since then! We've been trying to help him _not_ think about it!"

"I know that too," Treville said. "You forget that I was here almost as much as you, at first."

That was true. Treville had stayed at Aramis' side all night and every spare minute for at least a week after Savoy...changing his bandages, waking him from nightmares, and doing everything possible for him.

"I agree with Porthos," Athos said. "I don't see how Aramis will be able to do this."

"With all of us by his side. He _has_ to," said Treville. "I tried to talk Louis out of it, but he's been waiting all these weeks and I couldn't put him off anymore...he wants as much information as possible." He sighed. "We need Aramis' account just as we'd need a report on any other kind of altercation."

The others knew that was true, and as one, all three of them looked to the bed, to find Aramis still asleep.

"Louis knows that Aramis' injuries were grave," Treville said. "I told him that he nearly didn't survive and has had...trouble...with his mind. I blamed it on the head wound and told him that Aramis will make a full recovery. With the way Aramis has been affected by this, another regiment might have discharged him. I've done everything in my power to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Then why did you mention the _trouble_ with his mind at all?!" Porthos asked.

"To explain whatever happens today in the throne room!" Treville told him.

In other words, in case Aramis gets locked in a flashback.

All three men sighed. "When is he expecting us?" Athos asked.

"I gave him no exact time," said Treville. "I told the king that it'll take a while to get Aramis presentable because he is still bedridden."

Athos nodded. "Then we wait for him to wake on his own and break it to him carefully."

Treville nodded back, expecting nothing else.

The next hour passed very tensely for everyone, and when Aramis woke, he did so with a groan, as usual.

Athos had some hot chocolate warming over the fire, and he poured it into a cup and brought it to the bed.

"Morning," Porthos said, squeezing his arm. "How ya feelin'?"

Aramis blinked a few times. "All right," he answered, ridiculously.

"How's the pain?" Athos asked as he came over to the bed. "Any better?"

"A little," Aramis said, letting Porthos recline him upright.

"Hungry?" Porthos asked.

"No," said Aramis, taking the cup that Athos handed him.

All three of them figured that was probably a good thing...if Aramis ate and then found out what the king wanted of him, he'd probably throw it right back up again.

Treville stayed back as he watched Athos and Porthos care for their friend, waiting until they decided to break the news to him.

Aramis handed Athos the cup before taking a deep breath and letting it out. "All right, tell me."

Porthos blinked. "Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is that you're reluctant to say," Aramis answered.

They were all slightly surprised that he was able to read them that well while still in pain, and they both sat on either sides of the bed. "The king has made a demand of Captain Treville."

At that, Treville came closer. "I'm sorry, Aramis...but Louis wishes to speak with you."

Aramis was slightly startled at his presence, and just looked at him. "With me?"

Treville nodded. "About what happened."

Aramis immediately paled. "You mean he...wants me to...explain...?" He stopped, unable to go on.

Treville sighed. "I'm sorry...I tried so hard to spare you this."

Images that Aramis hoped to forget quickly flooded his mind. _Death...bloodied snow...hungry crows...Marsac…_ Suddenly he couldn't breathe, and he felt his friends' hands grab onto him to try to calm him down.

Treville's face suddenly came into view, and Aramis abruptly realized that he was speaking.

"Breathe, Aramis! Listen to me...in and out, in and out. Aramis!"

Treville shook him hard, and pain exploded in Aramis' head, making him wince and close his eyes, bringing up shaking hands to grasp it.

Treville winced himself, having not wanted to resort to that. He reclined Aramis back against his pillows and placed a comforting hand on the wounded musketeer's hair. "I'm sorry, Aramis, I'm so sorry."

Aramis gave no reply, breathing heavily and grasping his head. "I can't do it," he gasped.

"Yes you can," Athos said, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll be there with you; you won't be alone."

"You'll _never_ be alone again," said Porthos, tugging one of Aramis' hands away from his head and squeezing it tightly.

Treville sighed, inwardly furious that Marsac had abandoned Aramis wounded and alone amongst the carnage.

Aramis gave no reply, breathing heavily and still holding his head with the hand that wasn't clasped by Porthos. His face was extremely pale. "When?" he finally whispered.

"Whenever you're ready," said Treville, nearly expecting Aramis to say that he'd _never_ be ready.

Aramis took a few more breaths before opening his eyes. He didn't look at them at first, still grasping his head. Eventually, his eyes strayed to his left hand, held so strongly by Porthos.

Porthos tightened his hold. "You're not goin' alone."

Aramis finally looked at them, one at a time, before sighing heavily. "Let's get it over with, then."

Treville sent a note to the palace informing the king of their impending arrival, and the next hour was spent making Aramis presentable. He was still weak and needed help dressing, and they put two extra shirts on him to keep him warm and help fill out the uniform, which was visibly too big. They trimmed his mustache and beard and asked again if he was hungry, to which he replied 'no'. Athos gave him more of the hot chocolate, which Aramis nearly dropped: his hand was shaking too badly to hold it.

Treville sat next to him on the side of the bed. "Try to be calm, Aramis," he said, placing a hand on his back in comfort.

Aramis took a shuddering breath, looking impossibly young. Treville had to remind himself that he was only twenty-three years old, and had experienced a horror that would break even much older men.

Athos urged him to drink, keeping hold of the cup.

The scent of the hot chocolate filled the air, and Treville looked at Athos with surprise, knowing how expensive it was.

Athos didn't notice his look as he helped Aramis drink it, and when he finished, he placed the cup on the nightstand and all three of them stared at Aramis, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aramis took another deep breath, suddenly feeling dizzy. He was so nervous that he wasn't even sure if he could walk. Looking up, he saw his friends waiting patiently, and he held out a shaking hand.

Porthos grasped it and pulled him to his feet, with Athos helping on the other side. Once Aramis was standing, he suddenly swayed and his knees buckled.

All three of them caught him and lowered him back down to the bed, his upper body ending up in Treville's arms.

Aramis' eyes were closed in unconsciousness.

"Tell the king 'no'!" Porthos exclaimed. "Aramis is still too sick!"

"I have been, for weeks!" Treville told him. "Aramis is right that he should get this over with. Why keep him in an anxious state knowing that he'll just have to do this tomorrow instead?" With that, he shook the wounded musketeer. "Aramis, wake up!" It took two more tries before Aramis gave a soft moan, and Athos and Porthos pulled him out of Treville's arms and sat him up.

Aramis' head lolled weakly to one side as he dizzily blinked.

"Aramis?" said Athos, grasping his shoulder. "Stay with us."

It took another moment of quiet blinking before Aramis came back to himself. He looked at them with confusion, not remembering passing out. "Are we back?" he asked.

Treville sighed. "No, we haven't left yet."

Aramis sighed again. His head was throbbing, and he closed his eyes.

"Come," said Athos, against his better judgment. "This won't take long and then you can rest."

Aramis let them pull him to his feet and hold him there until they were sure that he wouldn't pass out again.

Treville grabbed Aramis' blue cape and tied it on him before placing his hat atop his head, careful not to let the brim touch the still-healing wound. He stepped back and looked the musketeer over, wishing that he didn't look so pale and tired. It was obvious how much weight he'd lost, though the cape helped to disguise it somewhat.

Crossing to the door, Treville held it open as Athos and Porthos helped Aramis along, and soon they were in the stable, saddling their horses. They made Aramis sit on a bale of hay while they did it, and carefully got him mounted once his horse was ready.

Aramis held on tightly, still dizzy from his faint. It was obvious to the others how unsteady he was, and they rode to the palace slowly.

The closer they got, the more anxious Aramis became, and after they arrived, he nearly fell off his horse when the others helped him down. As they entered the palace, Aramis tried to draw on whatever meager strength he possessed, and forced himself to walk tall and straight. The effect was ruined by his rapidly paling face, and he looked white as a ghost once they arrived at the throne room.

Before they entered, Porthos stopped walking, effectively stopping his friends. "All for one, Aramis," he said to him. "Just remember that."

Aramis gave him a shaky smile in reply, before they headed inside.

TBC


	4. Savoy

King Louis and Cardinal Richelieu were talking in the far corner of the throne room, and turned when they heard the musketeers come in.

"Good day, Your Highness," Treville said, as they all bowed.

"Good day," said the king. He and Richelieu walked over and looked the three musketeers over before the king said, "So, Aramis. You are the only one who survived this dreadful massacre?"

Everyone looked at their friend; Aramis' breathing was audible and his face couldn't possibly have been any paler than it was.

"No, Sire, not the _only_ one," Aramis told him. His voice was a little shaky, but it was obvious only to his closest friends.

Louis nodded. "Well, yes, we know about the coward who deserted. He'll get what he deserves as soon as we find him."

Everyone knew that the punishment for desertion was death, but Aramis had apparently not given it much thought, for at those words, his knees buckled and Porthos and Athos grabbed him.

"Someone get this man a chair," Richelieu commanded, sounding bored.

Treville had already dashed over to the closest one and grabbed it, dragging it over as quickly as he could. Once there, they eased Aramis down into it, glad to see that his eyes were open.

"Forgive me," Aramis managed to say, lifting a hand to his spinning head as he tried to catch his breath. "I have not yet recovered...from my wounds."

King Louis, even younger than Aramis and eager to be a likable king, waved his hand. "I understand, musketeer. Now, tell us what happened, so we can work on finding those responsible."

"He is not your equal, Sire," Richelieu whispered in his ear. "You need not explain your commands."

Treville heard him and shot him a scathing look.

The king acknowledged the cardinal with a nod and sat down on his throne as he waited for Aramis to speak.

Porthos and Athos, standing beside the chair, each squeezed their friend's shoulders, reminding him of their presence and lending him the confidence that he needed.

Aramis lowered his hand and cleared his throat. "We were sent on a…a training exercise."

"Yes," said Louis. "We were aware of that."

"I was one of the senior musketeers present," Aramis continued.

"You?" said Richelieu, shocked. "How old are you, nineteen?"

Aramis looked at him and some color came back into his face at the insult. "I am twenty-three, and have served as a musketeer since the year the regiment was founded."

Louis looked at Richelieu. "Really, cardinal, his age doesn't matter; I am younger than that and I am king!" He looked at Aramis. "Go on."

It took Aramis a few seconds to speak again. "We camped in the woods. Most of us were asleep and were woken by shouts after the group of men attacked..." He paused and took a deep breath. "Whoever was on watch must've been killed before they could raise the alarm."

"How many men attacked you?" Richelieu asked.

Aramis thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I couldn't be sure in the dark..."

 _Aramis scrambled outside his tent, in time to shoot the intruder who came at him with a sword. Standing, he looked around with shock as his fellow musketeers were slaughtered. Sensing someone behind him, he quickly turned and deflected the sword that had been aimed at his back and sent it flying from his attacker's hand, before smashing the man on his head with his empty gun. He had nothing to reload it with so he dropped it and turned to face whoever came at him next._

 _Aramis spotted a man with another small group, and watched as he pointed towards some musketeers who appeared to be alive and were dragging themselves towards each other. The men stalked over and killed them as they lay defenseless._

 _Aramis couldn't believe what he was witnessing, and he rushed towards the leader, whose back was turned._

 _Hearing him coming, the man spun and deflected his sword, just as Aramis had done to his attacker. They traded blows until the man stumbled to the right, pulling an unseen dagger from its sheath at his back._

 _Before Aramis could blink, the dagger flew through the air and pierced his left side. Aramis gasped from the pain, stumbling back into a tree. His sword was suddenly too heavy, and nearly dropped from his hand._

 _The leader walked over to him and savagely pulled the dagger from Aramis' side, before smashing him on the side of his head with his pistol._

 _Stars erupted in Aramis' vision and he watched through hazy eyes as the man laughed and made the grave mistake of turning around, thinking Aramis too injured to react._

 _With all the strength that Aramis still possessed, he raised his sword with both hands and slashed his enemy across his back._

 _The man gave a cry of pain and fell, and Aramis' knees buckled as pain seared through his head and side. He dropped to the ground, and everything turned black._

"You wounded the leader?" Richelieu asked, sounding surprised.

His voice brought Aramis back to the present, and he blinked, feeling dizzy again as his brain tried to accept the reality that he was sitting in a chair in the palace throne room, not lying unconscious in a cold forest.

"Did you hear me, musketeer?" Richelieu asked.

"Yes," Aramis answered, still blinking. "Yes, I wounded the leader."

"How long were you unconscious?" Richelieu asked next. "Were they gone when you woke?"

 _Aramis realized that he was moving. His right arm had been flung around someone's shoulders and the person was dragging him. Terrible pain laced through his head and left side, and he could hardly think, nevermind walk. He was lowered to the ground and hands touched his back, but he was barely conscious and couldn't react. Sounds of battle filled his ears…swords clashing, men dying…and Aramis lost consciousness again._

 _The next time he opened his eyes, everything was quiet and there was light. Aramis was so cold that his entire body was stiff and aching. He raised a shaking hand to his head and found that someone had tied a piece of cloth around it, and he wondered why for all of five seconds before the awful events came back to him and he quickly sat up._

 _Pain shot through his head and side so badly that he gave a cry of pain, and his breathing quickly dissolved into gasps when he saw the bodies that littered the ground. Somehow, he struggled to his feet, belatedly realizing that snow was gently falling…snow that was red in spots…in too many places._

 _Dazed, with his vision blurring from the concussion that afflicted his brain, Aramis stumbled around the campsite, hoping to find survivors, but not capable of helping them even if there were. He suddenly realized that he was alone; every musketeer was dead except for him. The knowledge was almost impossible for him to comprehend, and he fell to his knees._

 _Suddenly, Aramis spotted Marsac ahead of him, alive and apparently uninjured. He watched with confusion as his friend removed his pauldron, dropped it to the ground, and walked away, never looking back. He watched him until he'd disappeared from view, wondering where he was going._

 _He couldn't possibly have left him there; there had to be a reason why he'd dropped his pauldron. Maybe it had been damaged in the fight? Maybe he was going for help and didn't want to be recognized as a musketeer should he encounter their attackers again?_

 _Aramis found himself sitting against a tree as he waited for his friend to return. He shivered terribly, his eyes locked on the bodies that lay all around the campsite. Some of their eyes were open, some weren't. After the crows came, some of them no longer had eyes at all._

 _Marsac never came back._

 _Aramis remained where he was, sitting against the tree. Eventually, he stopped shivering, which he knew was a bad sign. He continued to wait for Marsac, never believing that he had left him there to die; to freeze to death, wounded and alone surrounded by twenty bodies and the crows that feasted on them._

 _When unconsciousness came to claim him again, Aramis was glad._

"What a dreadful account!"

Aramis startled at the king's voice, finding himself once again sitting in the throne room. He was squeezing the arms of the chair nearly tight enough to break them, and he looked around, confused. "Marsac?" he said.

Athos and Porthos were both kneeling before the chair, gripping his arms.

Aramis was breathing heavily, his mind having a hard time understanding that he wasn't in Savoy.

"Calm down," Athos was saying to him. "You're in Paris, Aramis."

Aramis looked around the room again, before staring at his two friends. "I am?" he asked.

Treville stepped in front of the chair to block Aramis from the king and cardinal. "If there is nothing else, Sire? I'd like to get Aramis back to the garrison."

The king nodded. "Yes, of course."

"I assume that he is still under a doctor's care?" Richelieu asked, condescendingly. "The boy obviously needs one…or several."

Treville shot him a glare. "Yes, he has a doctor." With that, he gave the king a bow, before turning and heading back to the chair, where Aramis was still sitting rigidly as the other two tried to bring his mind back to where it belonged. He reached down and pulled Aramis out of his seat, wrapping an arm around his back and helping him stumble out of the room with Athos and Porthos beside them.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Aramis gasped, "I'm not in Savoy?" before passing out in Treville's arms.

TBC


	5. The Aftermath

Treville didn't expect Aramis to suddenly pass out, but he was holding onto him tightly enough to prevent Aramis from hitting the floor.

Porthos quickly grabbed their friend and easily swung him into his arms before carrying him to a nearby settee. He sat Aramis down carefully and Treville pulled his head up, finding him unconscious. He sighed and looked at the others.

"I should have somehow delayed the king again," Treville said.

Athos shook his head. "Today or next week likely would've made no difference; he still has fainting spells either way."

"Don't let _him_ hear you call it that," said Porthos, sitting next to Aramis and holding onto his arm to keep him upright.

"How long do they usually last?" Treville asked, staring at Aramis' pale face and noticing that his breathing was shallow.

"Sometimes seconds, others as long as ten minutes," Athos told him.

"After what he just went through in there, who _knows_ this time," said Porthos.

Treville sighed again. "Let's get him back to the garrison."

"Can we wait a while to see if he wakes?" Athos asked. "He'll be mortified to hear that he was carried through the palace."

Treville didn't blame him, and nodded.

Seven or eight minutes later, just when Treville was about to tell Porthos to carry him out, Aramis' eyes suddenly fluttered and he made a soft sound.

"Aramis?" said Porthos, putting a hand on the side of his face.

They received no reply and Aramis didn't stir again for twenty or thirty seconds, though his breathing wasn't as shallow. He suddenly scrunched his eyes shut tighter and pulled in a sharp breath.

"That's right, Aramis," Porthos said. "Keep wakin', we're right here."

Ever so slowly, Aramis' eyes opened, stopping halfway and blinking a few times. His eyes looked glazed and lacked recognition.

"Does this happen every time?" Treville asked, alarmed to see how long it was taking for Aramis to become responsive.

"The longer he's out, the longer it takes for him to recover from it," Athos told him.

Treville shook his head and reached out to squeeze Aramis' arm in sympathy. "Aramis," he said. "Can you hear me?"

It took a few more seconds, but Aramis sluggishly shifted his gaze to look at him. "Cap'n?" he slurred.

Treville smiled. "That's right. Are you with us?"

Aramis continued to blink, before looking at Athos and Porthos. "Yes," he whispered.

All three of them gave a collective sigh of relief.

"Do you think you can stand?" Treville asked.

Aramis gave no answer, remaining slumped where he was, offering no comment on his own condition. He continued to dazedly blink.

"He can't," said Athos. "Not yet."

"Does alcohol help to revive him?" Treville asked, not wanting to assume.

"Sometimes," Athos said.

Treville stood and headed into the nearby library where there was a decanter of brandy. He poured some into a cup and brought it back. "Here, Aramis," he said, holding it to his lips.

Aramis obediently sipped it until Treville pulled it away. Aramis blinked a few more times before suddenly looking at them with more clarity. "What happened?" he asked.

Treville gave him a smile, hoping to never see the young musketeer go through that ever again. "You passed out."

"I did?"

Treville nodded.

Aramis shifted slightly, raising a shaky hand to his aching head. He looked around and when he realized where they were, he startled.

Porthos and Athos tightened their hold on him.

"It's over, Aramis," Treville told him. "You did just fine."

Aramis said nothing, breathing heavily as he tried to compose himself. "Let's go," he suddenly said, obviously wanting to get away.

Porthos stood and gently pulled him to his feet, holding onto him tightly when he took a step and stumbled on wobbly legs.

"Take it easy, Aramis," Athos said. "Slow down."

Aramis obeyed, stopping and taking a deep breath as he tried to ward off the lightheadedness that gripped his brain.

They all waited until he was ready, and then they slowly walked off, watching to make sure that Aramis was capable of walking.

The wounded musketeer was quiet, letting them lead him. The lightheadedness didn't go away and his legs felt shaky. When they got to the stairs, his knee buckled on the first step and almost sent him tumbling down them. His friends managed to catch him and they helped him carefully down one step at a time.

Once they got to the bottom, they stopped to give Aramis a moment, and it was a good thing, for his head suddenly lolled and dropped forwards. They didn't expect that, and Treville raised his chin to find Aramis' eyes open.

"Sorry," Aramis mumbled. "Dizzy."

"Maybe I _should_ carry 'im," said Porthos.

Aramis managed to slowly turn his head and give him what they assumed was supposed to be a glare. He took a step and they resumed helping him out of the palace.

Getting Aramis mounted on his horse was a team effort, as his ordeal with the king and subsequent faint had sapped away his strength. Once mounted, Aramis' head was throbbing and still dizzy, and he had no idea how he was expected to stay up there. Somehow, he managed to hide it, and was grateful for their slow pace.

As they rode, Aramis had time to think, and found himself reeling from his experience in the throne room. He barely remembered explaining what had happened to him…he felt like he'd actually relived it all, as he often did in his dreams. Even now, he felt jumpy and nervous, almost expecting to ride around a corner and find the ground littered with bodies being eaten by crows…while Marsac walked away and left him there to die.

Aramis' head suddenly starting spinning worse, and he closed his eyes, not even realizing that they'd arrived back at the garrison.

"Whoa!" Porthos exclaimed, rushing to catch Aramis when he suddenly tipped over the side of his horse. He barely made it in time, diving to the ground and succeeding in stopping Aramis' head from bouncing off the dirt.

The others were stunned and rushed over to kneel beside them. "Did he hit his head?!" Treville exclaimed.

"No," Porthos answered, with relief. "Just the _rest_ of himself."

Athos and Treville checked their unconscious friend for injuries and found nothing broken, though they were sure that Aramis would likely be covered in bruises soon.

Porthos eventually lifted Aramis and carried him to his room, where they quickly put him back to bed and sat staring at him.

"I tried," Treville suddenly said. "I tried so hard to spare him from that meeting..."

"We know," Porthos said.

Athos went over to the fire, and a minute later, Treville smelled the hot chocolate again. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"Chocolate," said Athos, coming back. "It's the only thing that Aramis will regularly consume."

"Three shirts under his jacket," Porthos said. "And it was still too big on 'im." He sighed and looked at Treville. "Athos brought back that chocolate stuff over a week ago and Aramis loves it."

Treville looked at Athos. "He's had it every day?"

Athos nodded.

"And it comes in solid pieces too," said Porthos.

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "Athos, I know how much chocolate costs!"

"But Aramis does not," Athos answered.

"He was wastin' away," Porthos told Treville. "We had to do somethin'. Athos won't let me help pay for it."

"You don't need to, I have an inheritance," Athos said.

"Still," said Treville. "I'd like to help. It is partly my fault that Aramis lays here wounded. I'd like to make amends in any way that I can."

"And he's _my_ friend too," Porthos cut in.

Athos nodded his understanding. "All right."

The three of them fell quiet again, watching Aramis, seeming to realize all at once that it'd been more than ten minutes.

"This is his longest fainting spell?" asked Treville.

Porthos nodded, with a sigh.

Treville reached up a hand to scrub at his face, looking exhausted and guilty.

It was nearly a half-hour before Aramis showed signs of life, moving his head slightly.

Treville moved before either of the others had a chance, sitting on the side of the bed and grasping the wounded musketeer's shoulder. "Aramis," he said, giving it a squeeze. "Aramis?"

He received no reaction, and just like before, they had to wait and watch as Aramis ever so slowly came back to himself. Eventually, he scrunched his eyes shut tighter and winced with a soft moan.

"Here," said Athos.

Treville turned to see that he was holding out a wet towel. It was obvious what he was supposed to do with it, so he took it and laid it over Aramis' forehead, hoping that the coldness would soothe his headache.

Aramis flinched and made a soft sound of surprise at the feel of the cold—which showed them just how out-of-it Aramis still was—but the wince eventually faded and he continued to lie there quietly, eyes still closed, body motionless. It was a few minutes later when he finally opened his eyes slightly.

Treville tried to smile at him, but it wasn't easy while witnessing the poor state of Aramis' health. "Are you with us?" he asked.

Aramis blinked at him but didn't answer.

"Aramis?" Treville tried again.

"How could you?" Aramis whispered.

Treville frowned. "How could I what?"

"Leave me to die," Aramis said.

A chill shot down Treville's spine and he didn't know how to respond.

"We were brothers, Marsac," Aramis continued. "You abandoned me to die." Tears filled his eyes and he closed them.

Porthos grabbed Aramis' hand and squeezed it. "You're not in Savoy, Aramis!" he said, sounding choked up himself.

Treville had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak again. "Look at me, Aramis," he said, squeezing his shoulder again.

Aramis opened his eyes and the tears escaped.

Porthos made a sound of dismay and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, gently wiping them away.

"You're home," Treville said. "I'm not Marsac, and you are not in Savoy."

Aramis closed his eyes again. "Yes I am...there are bodies...and crows eating them..."

Athos, who had been quiet so far, leaned over the bed in front of Treville and grasped Aramis' shoulders. "Aramis, it's Athos. Do you know me?"

Treville stood to get out of Athos' way. He watched shakily, unable to believe that he was partly to blame for what was happening.

Aramis reopened his eyes. "Yes," he answered.

"Have you ever known me to lie?" Athos asked.

"No."

"Then believe me now when I tell you that you are home at the musketeer garrison and not in Savoy. There are no bodies, and Marsac is not here."

Aramis closed his eyes again at mention of that name. "He abandoned me," he whispered.

Athos sighed.

Porthos squeezed Aramis' hand tighter. "But _we_ never will. Believe that too, Aramis."

Aramis reopened his eyes and looked at him. "I do," he said. He tiredly blinked for nearly a full minute before some coherence suddenly came back into his eyes, and he looked at Treville. "Captain."

Treville knelt beside the bed. "Right here."

Aramis looked at him for a few seconds. "Forgive me. I wasn't myself."

 _You haven't been yourself since that terrible day,_ Treville thought. "Don't apologize, Aramis, none of this is your fault. I'm the one who's sorry, and I will be until the end of my days."

Aramis shook his aching head slightly. "Not your fault either."

Treville sighed. None of the musketeers knew the truth of what had happened in Savoy...he himself hadn't truly known until the deed was done and he'd forced Richelieu to tell him. It was something that he'd have to keep to himself for the rest of his life, and he knew that it wasn't going to be easy.

Athos went over to the fire and brought back a cup of the hot chocolate. "Aramis?" he said. "Drink."

Porthos gently lifted their wounded friend's head as Athos put the cup to his lips, and Aramis drank it gratefully. "Mmm," he said, licking his lips as Porthos laid his head back to the pillow.

Despite everything, his reaction made Treville smile.

Aramis kept his eyes closed. "I'm tired," he suddenly said.

"Then sleep," Porthos answered, squeezing his shoulder.

Aramis said nothing else, falling quickly into slumber.

Treville looked at Athos and sighed, having no words to describe his feelings. All he could do was shake his head with dismay.

TBC


	6. Improvement

Aramis slept through the night for the first time since Savoy…waking only once, and only long enough for a drink of water.

Athos and Porthos had mixed feelings about it, afraid at first that he was unconscious. They felt better when he woke, and dared to hope that no nightmares were plaguing him, which was surprising after the ordeal that Aramis had been through that day.

Treville had stayed long into the night, and Athos and Porthos could see the guilt that clouded his features. They eventually told him to go to bed, and with a sad nod, Treville eventually left. It disturbed them to see their captain accept such blame, though it wasn't surprising considering the situation.

When Aramis woke the next morning, he was quiet, even managing not to groan from the pain still in his head. He lay there silently, watching Porthos and Athos, who were faithfully dozing in chairs on either side of his bed. He thought back to the day before, to Athos and Porthos saying that they would never leave him. When he said that he believed them, he'd told the truth…but he'd believed that about Marsac, too.

With a sigh, Aramis closed his eyes and laid an arm over them, suddenly feeling useless.

"Aramis?"

Startled, Aramis moved his arm away from his eyes, finding that Athos was awake.

"Feeling any better?" Athos whispered, so as not to wake Porthos.

Aramis hesitated. His head was still aching and he felt utterly weak, but he didn't feel quite as sad...at the moment, anyway. "I feel…somewhat lighter," he answered.

"Lighter?"

"Mentally," Aramis explained. "I know that you and Porthos are my friends—better friends than...Marsac." It was still hard to say his name. "But what the two of you said yesterday...I really needed to hear that. Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Porthos.

Aramis turned his head, to find his other friend awake.

Porthos chuckled before turning serious and reaching over to clasp Aramis' arm. "That's what we're here for, to help you."

Aramis smiled, but it quickly faded. "Your whole lives have revolved around taking care of me for a _month_ ," he said. "Aren't you tired of it?"

"No," Porthos told him. "We care about you and want you well again."

"You would do the same for us," said Athos.

That was true; Aramis would. Feeling a little choked up, he held out his hands to grasp his friends'. "Thank you," he whispered again.

"No thanks needed," said Athos.

Aramis squeezed their hands before letting go.

After that day, Aramis finally began to improve. Athos and Porthos' declaration that they would never leave him was what lent him the strength to go on despite the nightmares and Marsac's betrayal.

And through it all, his friends continued to supply him with chocolate.

One day two weeks later, Aramis woke up in his room alone. It was a rare thing, and since his head wasn't hurting badly, he decided to go outside for breakfast to join the rest of the garrison. Getting himself dressed took longer than he expected after having assistance for so long from his friends, and he truly realized just then how much weight he had lost. He looked at his reflection in the mirror for the first real time in six weeks and was shocked. Even with two shirts on against the chill that he still felt, his jacket was noticeably too large. Adjusting it as much as he could, he decided to force himself to eat that day as much as possible.

Crossing to the window, he looked out to see musketeers milling around, awaiting breakfast. He spotted Porthos in the middle of the yard talking to one of them, and he quickly turned and grabbed his hat before heading for the door, wanting to get outside by himself, before Porthos came in.

The fast motion made Aramis dizzy, and he had to stop for a moment to catch his breath. Placing a hand on the wall, he left his room and headed down the hall before stepping outside, trying to look as healthy as he could.

Porthos started heading towards the stairs, intent on checking on Aramis, when he stopped in shock at what he saw: Aramis had reached the stairs and was slowly descending them, holding onto the rail. Porthos knew that his tight grip meant that he felt dizzy or weak—or both—and he quickly headed over.

Aramis saw him and held up a hand as if telling him to halt, which Porthos hesitantly did. Aramis continued his descent and stepped off the bottom step with a slight smile.

Porthos couldn't stop himself from smiling too, and he grabbed his friend in a tight hug, catching him by surprise.

Aramis chuckled as he was dwarfed inside the larger man's arms.

The obvious feel of Aramis' thinner frame wasn't even enough to take away Porthos' happiness. Aramis deciding to come outside to join his comrades was a huge step in his recovery. He released his friend and guided him over to the table where they both sat down.

Everyone else eventually noticed Aramis and headed over, glad to see him up and around.

Athos had just left Treville's office and headed for Aramis' room, but he walked in to find it empty. He was surprised, and quickly headed outside to see seemingly everyone clustered around the table. He was surprised to see Aramis sitting there and watched for a minute, pleased to see Aramis looking better than he had for the past six weeks.

Some of the other musketeers moved so Athos could sit down beside Aramis, and he gave his friend a genuine smile, glad to see him participating in life again.

Serge came out with breakfast not long after, and expressed his joy at seeing Aramis outside. He piled his plate high with food and commanded that he eat it all.

Aramis blinked. "This is more food than _Porthos_ can eat!"

"Hey!" Porthos exclaimed. He peered at Aramis' plate before saying, "No it isn't."

Everyone who heard him laughed.

Aramis ate more than usual, but he couldn't finish it even if he'd wanted to; the long weeks of hardly eating had made his stomach shrink.

"Don't make yourself sick," Athos said, watching as Aramis lingered over his food.

Aramis put his fork down, giving up. "I looked in the mirror," he said.

The other two waited for him to continue.

"All these weeks, you two have dressed me when I needed to be, and since I trusted your judgment on my appearance, I didn't pay attention to it." He looked down at himself. "I look like the wind could knock me over. I didn't realize that I was starving myself."

The others were overjoyed that he'd come to that realization, but before they could answer, they suddenly heard, "Aramis!"

Looking towards the stairs, they spotted Treville walking towards the table.

"It's good you see you out here!" he said with a smile. "Feeling better?"

Aramis nodded. "Yes."

Treville clapped Aramis on the shoulder. "You have no idea how glad I am."

Aramis smiled back.

After breakfast, Treville called muster and handed out assignments. Aramis, still not on duty, watched from the table.

Once they were all through, the musketeers separated to fulfill their duties, and Treville headed to the table with Athos and Porthos in tow.

"Interested in staying outside for a while?" Treville asked Aramis.

Aramis nodded. "If my presence doesn't interfere with your plans for the day."

"Not at all," Treville told him. "You are still their assignment," he said, gesturing with his thumb towards Athos and Porthos. "I think it would do you good to stay outside; you've been cooped up in your room for much too long."

Aramis smiled slightly. He was definitely right about that.

"How's your head?" Porthos asked.

"This is the best it's been," Aramis answered.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Both men knew that Aramis hadn't much strength, and it was going to take a while to get himself fighting-fit again.

"All right," Aramis said. He stood and they headed towards the gate.

Athos and Porthos kept the pace slow for his sake, and they headed towards the marketplace.

The air had a slight chill and Aramis was glad that he was wearing two shirts under his jacket. They approached a cart filled with beautiful red apples, and he bought one.

"That's not gonna gain you any weight," Porthos commented, though he was glad to see Aramis eat it.

Aramis chewed and swallowed before he spoke. "I know. I think it'll be a while before I'm back to my usual appetite." He suddenly looked sad.

The last thing they wanted him to think about was Savoy, so Athos took his arm and motioned towards the bakery that they happened to be passing. "Would you like a pastry?"

"I do!" said Porthos, grabbing Aramis' other arm and walking him inside before Aramis had a chance to answer.

The man at the counter smiled happily to see Athos—his best customer—and waited on them as if they were royalty.

Aramis happened to see the jars of chocolate, and he walked over to them out of curiosity. When he saw the price, his eyes opened wider and his mouth dropped open. "Athos!" he exclaimed. "That's how much you're spending?!"

Athos inwardly cringed, having not realized that he was going to see it. "Yes?" he said.

Aramis looked at him, shocked.

"Hey it's not just him," said Porthos. "Treville and I contributed too."

Aramis just looked at them, not sure how to react. He looked away from them to the tiny card that displayed the price, still looking shocked.

Athos paid for the pastries and they left the bakery, heading over to some benches outside and sitting down.

"I had no idea," Aramis suddenly said.

Athos handed him his pastry. "It's our pleasure, Aramis."

"But why?" Aramis said, looking at him. "Why would you spend so much money on something so unimportant?"

"Because it _isn't_ unimportant," Athos said. "You like it, and you need it, and I'm glad to help you in any way that I can."

Aramis was touched. "But..."

"No buts, Aramis," said Porthos, his mouth full. He swallowed before continuing. "You wouldn't eat; you were wasting away. We had to do _something_!"

Aramis' emotions were a mess since Savoy, so it wasn't difficult at all for his eyes to fill with tears. "Thank you. I can never repay you both."

"You aren't required to," said Athos, squeezing his arm. "Now eat your pastry before Porthos steals it."

Aramis looked at Porthos, to see him licking his fingers and gazing longingly at the pastry in Aramis' hand.

Aramis couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

The three musketeers spent the day outside, letting Aramis get some much-needed exercise. They went back for their horses after the bakery and headed to a grassy spot near the river where Aramis always liked to go. He eventually fell asleep under a tree, and as his two friends quietly watched him, they saw that he seemed more peaceful.

When Aramis later woke, they were all thrilled that he hadn't had any nightmares.

They returned to the garrison in time for supper, and Aramis was so tired that he could barely stand up once finished.

"You all right?" Porthos asked, noticing that he was paler.

Aramis' eyes were half-closed and he seemed dazed. "Mmm," was all he could get out. His head was throbbing dully, thought it was certainly better than the stabbing pain that he usually had.

Athos took one arm and Porthos took the other, and they gently helped Aramis to his feet and held onto him as they directed him towards the stairs. A few minutes later, they were sitting him on his bed and getting his boots and jacket off.

Aramis gave no reaction at first, eyes closed as they gently manhandled him. He was so used to it by now they he could probably fall asleep in the middle of it. "Mpfh," he suddenly mumbled.

Athos halted as he unbuttoned Aramis' jacket. "What was that?"

"Valets."

Porthos chuckled. "So that's what you think of us, eh?"

Aramis smiled slightly, eyes still closed.

A moment later, they were lying him down, and Aramis gave a sigh of relief as he dozed off.

"Don't go to sleep yet," said Porthos. To Aramis, his voice sounded like it was underwater, and he was suddenly pulled to a sitting position while an extra pillow was shoved behind his back to prop him up.

Aramis opened his eyes when he smelled hot chocolate, and he found a cup floating before his eyes. "You spoil me," he said.

Athos smiled slightly as he handed it to Aramis, keeping his hand under it just in case Aramis was too half-asleep to hold it.

"You're worth it," Porthos told him. "You know that, right? I mean, _really_ know it?"

Aramis nodded as he drank, before handing Athos the empty cup. He looked at them, blinking tiredly. "I thought Marsac was my closest friend for five years," he said. "But he was nothing compared to you."

Both Athos and Porthos smiled at him, and watched as his breathing evened-out in slumber.

"Thank God for chocolate," Porthos whispered, after he assumed that Aramis was asleep.

"Thank God for the two of _you,_ " Aramis mumbled unexpectedly.

Athos smiled slightly, watching as Aramis shifted a little and quietly resettled. His face looked more peaceful than it had in nearly seven weeks, and both of them suddenly realized that they'd done it...

…they'd brought Aramis back from the brink.

THE END


End file.
